No Laughing Matter
by ThoseWereTheDays
Summary: They were protesting the Joker's imprisonment," Gordon answered. "The message was: Release him, or the city will burn..." ...discontinued...
1. Author's Note

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**N****O ****L****a****U****G****H****I****n****G ****M****a****T****T****eR**

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Hello, all! It's been a long while since I last wrote a fanfic. This is my first (and probably only) Dark Knight story. This idea just came to me, so I have to get it out of my head. Like a lot of other people, I found Heath Ledger's portrayal of the Joker to be one of the best villains in movie history. Right? Well, it was enough to inspire me to write this...

This is my take on what could have happened after TDK ended. The prologue actually takes place during the film, but has been slightly altered to add an OC. Don't worry, the new character's more like an observer in this first chapter, so what occurs in the movie doesn't change at all here.

Anyway, I hope you'll give the new fic a chance. Enjoy!

P.S. Heath Ledger (RIP) was also _GREAT_ in Ned Kelly. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend you buy or rent it...

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	2. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, etc._

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**P****r****O****L****O****G****U****e**

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She was almost in a dead run by the time she reached the station doors. The police had finally done it...they had captured _him_. The most notorious criminal Gotham had ever known was behind bars, and its most revered advocate for peace and justice had gone missing. Harvey Dent – Gotham City's own 'White Knight' – had vanished shortly after _he_ was apprehended and taken into custody. Nothing had been verified, but everybody knew exactly who was behind Dent's mysterious disappearance.

In a way, the esteemed D.A. had brought it on himself. After calling a press conference to reveal the true identity of the Batman, Dent had claimed that he himself was the masked vigilante in an admirable, albeit poorly conceived, plan to bring down a dangerous villain who had already taken the lives of countless victims. The scheme had paid off in the end, but it seemed as though the gambit may have cost Dent his own life in the process. Hopefully, Natalie prayed, she would receive some more encouraging news once she met with Gordon inside. Not only did she consider Harvey Dent to be an honorable man, but she also knew that the city couldn't afford to lose him. He was changing things for the better, and that was just what they needed. They needed a leader with his morals and unrelenting dedication.

Racing up the police department steps, Natalie Harrison cursed to herself under her breath when one of her heels slipped on the pavement and she nearly toppled over. She hastily continued on her way and burst through the front doors. Not surprisingly, there wasn't an officer in sight when she entered the station. The majority of Gotham's police force was out cleaning up the streets after the assault on Dent's armored truck and the convoy that had been escorting him through the city. The remaining officers were undoubtedly keeping an ever–watchful eye on their infamous captive. Wisely, Natalie thought, as he had been successfully eluding them for far too long.

She knew precisely where to go, and wasted no time in getting there. As one of the most reputable analysts of human behavior in Gotham City, she had been asked by Gordon himself to attend the interrogation – much to her surprise. However, she suspected she knew the logic behind his invitation.

Though she had never sought fame or prestige in her work, this was undeniably the highest profile case that Gotham had ever seen. It was even bigger than Maroni and his thugs, and their shady dealings had made national headlines on more than one occasion. But this was different...this was the Joker.

Once she found the right door, Natalie rushed into the observation room, where she found Gordon watching their prisoner alongside several other officers. She recognized one of them as being Detective Ramirez, but the other faces were unfamiliar. It was strange to see Gordon standing there, alive and well, after he had so recently been thought dead after attempting to save the Mayor from assassination.

Understandably, their eyes never left the interrogation room as Natalie quietly joined them. Her breath caught in her throat when she gazed through the one–way mirror...they were both there. Like some legendary figures who had stepped out of mythology and into reality, they sat across from each other with only a small, metallic table separating them.

The Batman.

The Joker.

Seeing the Batman was like beholding a fictional super–hero that had been dreamt up and brought to life – strong and fearless. The Joker, on the other hand, was something completely different. The sight of him nearly made her take an involuntary step back. Seeing him in the flesh wasn't like reading about him in the papers. To actually see the paint up close, the scars carved into his face...the calm, yet wild glint in his unreadable eyes. The image of the maddened clown was truly terrifying.

She was so captivated and shaken by the sight of the two icons, one symbolizing the epitome of good while the other represented inexorable evil, that it took her a moment to realize that they were engaged in deep discussion. The caped crusader known to most of Gotham as their savior sat still and silent while the madman sitting across from him spoke in a firm, maybe even somewhat sympathetic, voice:

"To them you're just a freak...like me," he stated, almost pitying the masked guardian sitting in front of him. "They need you right now. But as soon as they don't, they'll cast you out – like a leper. Their morals, their code...it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble."

Natalie intently watched on as the Joker continued with his reasoning – leaning in closer to stare an increasingly impatient Batman in the eye.

"They're only as good as the world _allows_ them to be. You'll see, I'll show you...when the chips are down, these civilized people...they'll eat each other."

Arching an intrigued brow, Natalie studied the smug sociopath as he lazily sank back in his chair and flashed his interrogator a grin.

"See, I'm not a monster...I'm just ahead of the curve."

Natalie gasped when Batman unexpectedly leapt up from his chair and pulled the Joker onto the table by the collar of his shirt. Like Detective Ramirez, she turned to Gordon for a reaction, but he merely raised his hand to keep the surrounding officers in place.

"He's in control," he assured them.

Not quite believing his show of confidence, Natalie returned her attention to the interrogation room. The Joker was now pinned to the wall – seemingly unconcerned by the situation.

"The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules," he taunted. "And tonight you're going to break your one rule..."

"I'm considering it," the Batman growled, leaning in closer to the Joker's sadistic face.

"There are just minutes left, so you'll have to play my little game if you want to save...one of them."

The Joker was clearly relishing the shock and confusion that his prodding provoked in the man looming over him.

"Them?"

"For a while I thought you really were Dent, the way you threw yourself after her..."

This time there were no reassuring words. Natalie quickly moved out of the way as Gordon and the officers accompanying him dashed away. Inside the interrogation room, Batman yanked a chair up from the floor and strode toward the door, jamming it under the handle to prevent Gordon's entry. Delighted, the Joker called out to him as he returned to 'persuade' him:

"Look at you go!"

Natalie could only watch on as the enraged vigilante proceeded to pummel the Joker with powerful, unmerciful strikes with his gloved fists. She couldn't make out the words being exchanged between the two over the commotion – only the sound of the Joker's gleeful laughter as each blow was landed, repeatedly knocking him to the floor.

"Where are they?!"

Watching the scene unfold before her eyes, Natalie now felt almost as frightened by the Batman as she had by the Joker only moments before. Once calm and composed, the masked hero now seemed like a man possessed and consumed by anger. She didn't know what had set him off, but the Joker had evidently hit a nerve. By his display of pure, unbridled rage, she made a mental note to never cross him if she could help it. She did not intend to ever find herself in those shoes. That would be a grave mistake, obviously.

"Get that door open!" she heard Gordon shout out in the hallway.

Finally, the Joker's savage beating came to an abrupt end when he spat an address – his teeth covered in fresh blood.

"He's at 250 52nd Boulevard," he said before quirking a brow as he tried to remember the second address. If he truly couldn't remember, or he was simply feigning forgetfulness to agitate his assailant to the point of insanity, Natalie couldn't be sure. Why anybody would willingly and intentionally subject themselves to such pain was also beyond her comprehension. "And she...she's on Avenue X at Cicero."

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Natalie glanced around at the group of officers and detectives that had been left behind. Gordon had taken Detective Ramirez and numerous others along to find and save Harvey Dent, and Gotham's Assistant D.A., Rachel Dawes. According to the Joker, both had been taken hostage and the police had a very limited time–frame to rescue them before...

Not wanting to even imagine what ill fate awaited them if they were not found in time, Natalie pushed the disturbing thought from her mind and turned back to the man who had introduced himself as Detective Murphy. Along with several other high–ranking officers, he was left in charge to oversee their prisoners and watch over their biggest threat: the Joker. He could not be allowed to escape under any circumstance, no matter how dire.

"I was recently hired at Arkham," Natalie explained to the anxious detective. Like many of his colleagues, he hadn't stopped pacing since Gordon had departed. "I've been assigned to take the Joker."

Fully aware that the notion of discussing something as trivial as her job during such a serious dilemma was preposterous, Natalie could only hope that the conversation would provide the apprehensive detective with a momentary distraction. She hadn't, however, thought it through. Her line of work, the very reason why she suspected she had been summoned by Gordon in the first place, was a sensitive issue in this case.

Detective Murphy furrowed a brow. "Take him?"

"As, uum..." Natalie uncomfortably cleared her throat, knowing that most of the cops in Gotham City would have liked nothing more than to see their newly acquired captive strapped to the electric chair and fried for the countless officers murdered during his devastation. "As my patient..."

Detective Murphy frowned, but refrained from replying – much to Natalie's relief.

That relief vanished an instant later when two figures suddenly burst into the room. Frozen with fear, Natalie could only stand and watch as the officer that had been left alone with the Joker was led into the room with a blade pressed against his throat. Behind him, seemingly undaunted by the magnitude of his predicament or the guns pointed in his direction, the Joker hastily surveyed the room. How he managed to get his hands on a knife, Natalie could only guess.

He mockingly cocked his head to the side as if straining to listen – giving the false impression that he couldn't hear as the frantic officers shouted and barked orders. Natalie could tell that he was teasing them, and clearly enjoying every second of it.

"It's my own damn fault!" his hostage exclaimed. "Just shoot him!"

"What do you want?" Detective Murphy asked, ignoring the demand and keeping his pistol trained straight ahead.

The Joker's response came as a surprise not only to Natalie, but to everybody else in the room as well. "I just want my phone call..."

Natalie felt as if the tension in the air was so thick that it would suffocate her if it didn't pass soon. The excruciating moment of silence lingered on until Murphy eventually retrieved his cell phone and reluctantly tossed it across the room. Catching the phone without releasing his hold on his hostage, the Joker flipped it open and quickly dialed a number on the keypad.

The next thing Natalie knew she was sprawled out on the ground – a flash of light and debris throwing her painfully to the floor. Her eyes stinging from a thick cloud of smoke, she attempted to lift her head, but stopped when a sharp, blinding pain shot down her neck. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she trembled as her entire body began to throb and ache. She could barely make out the desk beside her as the haze of smoke and several loose sheets of paper drifted down from the ceiling, and engulfed her slender frame. Grimacing and gagging, she could picture the blood running out of her ears as they rang – deafening her to all else around her clammy, quivering body.

Once she began to come to her senses, she strained to lift her head a second time, but immediately froze when she spotted a dark silhouette through the haze. Petrified with fear, she watched on as it sauntered through the room at a leisurely pace. As her hearing started to return to her, she could make out a voice casually humming a song. She realized that the silhouette was the Joker just as he emerged from the smoke – glancing around, and somehow reminding her of a kid in a candy store. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice her presence as he ambled out of the room and made his way toward the stations' holding cells.

Natalie held on for a moment longer before her vision blurred completely and she slipped into unconsciousness...

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	3. Chapter 1

_**Laurenmlbc **__**-**_ _Hey, thanks for checking the story out. This chapter is just kind of setting the mood, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. And if you do happen to see Ned Kelly anytime soon, let me know what you think of it..._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, etc._

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**C H a P T e R 1**

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The day was bleak and growing overcast. Natalie did her best to stifle a shiver as cold chills ran down her spine, though it had nothing to do with the biting gust of wind that swept through the packed streets. No, this chill was due to something entirely different...a feeling she couldn't quite shake no matter how hard she tried. It was for fear of what the future held in store for the city that was now grieving for some of its finest protectors – fallen guardians that had been casualties in the seemingly endless war on crime. Many had paid with their lives, and those who had survived were now left to mourn their loss in the wake of a madman's crazed, destructive rampage, and an unforgivable betrayal by the masked vigilante who many had expected to bring him to justice. It was indeed a dark day for Gotham City. However, it was unlikely that everyone was sorry to see Gotham's 'White Knight' slain. The main architect of his untimely demise was no doubt taking great satisfaction in his handiwork. The Batman, once considered a hero by most, was now a wanted fugitive. He had shown his true colors when he killed_ him_...

Harvey Dent, along with his Assistant D.A., Rachel Dawes, had both been murdered. But it was Dent's death that had hit the hardest and brought half of Gotham out to pay their respects. His passing had been like a dagger through the heart of the city. He had been leading Gotham down the path of salvation when he died. For once, the people were beginning to look forward with a newfound sense of hope and optimist. In the papers, the recent succession of crime sprees had often been described as 'a storm that will pass and help pave the way for a better tomorrow' by Dent, but his life had been claimed before the skies were able to clear...if they ever would.

Standing before the gathered crowd of onlookers, recently appointed Commissioner Gordon stood firm and solemn behind his podium. Behind him, a large picture of Dent was prominently displayed for all to see.

"A hero..." he spoke loud and clear. "Not the hero we deserved, but the hero we needed. Nothing less than a knight...shining."

The massive crowd remained eerily quiet while the new police commissioner gave his eulogy. Among the many faces, Natalie could spot numerous officers and detectives, as well as the wealthiest business man Gotham had ever known: the one and only Bruce Wayne. Beside him stood a considerably older man with white hair. He wore a pressed, black suit and a doleful expression while he remained silent and unmoving. The head of Wayne Enterprises himself stood with his hands in his pockets and his eyes cast down in front of him, as if he found the death of Dent to be unbearable. But Natalie knew that it most likely wasn't Harvey Dent that haunted his thoughts...it was Rachel Dawes. Being somewhat of a local celebrity, Wayne's life was well publicized. It was no secret that he and Dawes had been close friends ever since their childhood, and Natalie could only assume that it was she who occupied his mind, not the deceased D.A.

Frowning, Natalie diverted her gaze from Wayne and grimly returned her attention to the podium. She felt a sudden pang of shame when she realized just how eager she was to leave the dreary memorial service, but she also realized that there was an important task at hand, and she had been charged with getting it done.

The day had finally arrived.

It was time.

She had accepted her position at Arkham Asylum nearby a month ago, but today was the first day that she would really be earning her paycheck. To be honest, she knew that she was being selfish. She was well aware that sacrificing a couple of hours out of the day and postponing her work for a short while longer wouldn't hurt anything. She had told herself that she was merely dedicated to upholding her duty, not skipping out early to tend to her own morbid curiosity. She _could_ deny it as much as she wanted, but she knew that she would only be lying to herself...she was anxious to get started. Once again, she felt a pang of shame as the thought sent her pulse racing.

Peering up at Commissioner Gordon, Natalie contemplated for a moment longer before turning and inconspicuously slipping away to find her car. She had made up her mind – she couldn't wait any longer. Besides, she told herself, the last few weeks had already been depressing enough without Gordon piling on more misery.

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Flipping through a brown file folder, Natalie intently read through the papers stacked inside, skimming over the details that she had read time and time again pertaining to Arkham's primary case study. At this point, she figured that she probably had its contents memorized well enough to recite it without looking, but she had always been somewhat of a perfectionist. Rigidly sitting behind the desk in her still unsettled office, she continued to examine the pages and prepare for her fast approaching session. It wasn't until a light rapping sounded at her office door that she finally tore her gaze away from the file...

"May I come in?" a familiar voice asked.

Natalie greeted the head of the asylum, Dr. Lambert, with a smile as he poked his head in through her half–opened door.

"Yes, of course, Dr. Lambert," she said, closing the folder and setting it aside. "I was just, uum...getting ready."

Furrowing a brow, Dr. Lambert stepped into the room and curiously glanced around at the unpacked boxes cluttering the floor. Noticing his puzzled expression, Natalie sighed and shot her new supervisor a sheepish smirk as she removed her reading glasses.

"I've been meaning to clean up in here..."

"No–no, it's coming along very nicely," Dr. Lambert replied. "How are you feeling?"

Now it was Natalie's turn to furrow a brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, as you already know, the assignment you will be taking on is far from ordinary," Dr. Lambert elaborated. "This is no run of the mill patient you'll be dealing with."

"Yes, I do understand that, sir," Natalie said as she rose from her seat. "But I believe I'm ready. I've been preparing for over two weeks now."

"And I believe there is no specialist more qualified to handle the case than you, Dr. Harrison," Lambert replied, offering the young woman an encouraging smile. "I just thought perhaps I might...prepare you a little more thoroughly."

"How so?" Natalie asked, slightly offended at the insinuation that she couldn't handle the job on her own, but appreciating his good intentions nonetheless.

"I did tell you about Dr. Waterson?" Lambert questioned, receiving a nod of confirmation. "We want to avoid a repeat of such an unfortunate incident. There are simply a few things you should know before stepping foot in that room..." Clearing his throat, Dr. Lambert hesitated briefly before continuing:

"For obvious reasons, this...patient...cannot be allowed to interact with anyone other than you. He has displayed extremely erratic and unpredictable behavior, as was to be expected. However, there are times when he becomes...well, if you can imagine, almost pleasant to be around."

Intrigued, Natalie tilted her head to the side in fascination. "You mean, a split personality?"

"I'm afraid not. Nothing so simple," Dr. Lambert replied. "It's his way of catching others off–kilter...taking advantage of a situation and gaining the upper hand. As of now, he has not shown or displayed any signs of violence. Having said that, I am convinced that he truly sees his incarceration as nothing more than a minor inconvenience...a game, if you will. It almost seems as if on occasion he is even content."

"For somebody who feels so strongly about rebelling against authority, I find it hard to believe that he could enjoy being locked away in solitary confinement," Natalie countered. "I can't imagine a more severe form of torture for such a defiant personality."

"That is precisely my point," Dr. Lambert retorted, eliciting a confused look from his colleague. "You must not trust anything he says. Dr. Waterson's biggest mistake was letting him inside...allowing him to influence his thoughts and actions. In the end, it was his willingness to participate in his mind–games that drove him from Arkham."

Unsure of what reaction Dr. Lambert was hoping for, Natalie remained silent for a moment before responding:

"Thank you for your concern, sir, but I think I can manage..."

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Natalie nervously wiped her moist palms on her blouse as she made her way down the long, winding corridors of Arkham's heavily secured 'Level 3'. Now that she actually found herself roaming the halls that held Gotham City's clinically insane and most psychotic prisoners, she was beginning to regret the decision to accept her new position. The fleeting thought faded as she approached a locked door – two armed guards standing on either side of it. Security was tight in this wing of the asylum, and for good reason. She knew that these particular patients were far too dangerous to risk even the smallest chance of escape.

Lost deep in her wandering thoughts, Natalie didn't even realize that she had stopped outside the door until one of the guards spoke up:

"Ma'am?"

"Yes?" she replied, doing her best to appear professional and composed. "Yes, I'm ready..."

"We'll be right behind you, ma'am," one of the guards reassured her. "We've been instructed not to say anything, but we'll be right there with you."

Wiping her clammy hands on her blouse to dry them one last time, Natalie glanced between the two men before taking a deep breath and shakily straightening her glasses. "Thank you, gentlemen."

Mustering the confidence that she was sure to need, she squared her shoulders and reached for the door...

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	4. Chapter 2

_Now that the tone's been set, it's time to get to the good stuff!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, etc._

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**C H a P T e R ****2**

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"Yes, I'm ready..."

"We'll be right behind you, ma'am," one of the guards reassured her. "We've been instructed not to say anything, but we'll be right there with you."

Wiping her clammy hands on her blouse to dry them one last time, Natalie glanced between the two armed men before taking a deep breath and shakily straightening her glasses. "Thank you, gentlemen."

Mustering the confidence that she knew she would be sure to need, she squared her shoulders and reached for the door. She inwardly scolded herself when she pushed it open and nearly leapt out of her skin when its hinges screeched. She knew that she couldn't afford to be so jumpy...she couldn't let her new patient see her in such a vulnerable state.

She took some comfort in knowing that her two chaperones were right behind her _–_ the sound of their footsteps following in tow relieving some of her anxiety, but not quite enough to put her mind at ease. She realized that feeling entirely at ease while being in the same room as _him_ was highly unlikely for anyone, if not impossible. Unless, of course, they too were just as mad and deranged as he was.

Stepping through the threshold, Natalie froze when she spotted her patient sitting behind a metallic table, inattentively staring down at its bare surface while his long, disheveled hair shrouded his face. Doing her best to remain unflustered, she confidently lifted her chin and approached him. Beneath his fading green locks she could partially make out the scarred visage that every soul in Gotham had come to know and fear over the previous months. She herself knew this fear better than most. A lump formed in her throat as she recalled overseeing his interrogation with the Batman, and soon after found herself lying in agony on the floor of Gotham Central. Numerous officers had been killed in the explosion, but she had been more fortunate than those who had perished. She herself had been lucky enough to survive the blast. Sadly, several others had not been so lucky and had lost their lives in the blink of an eye.

More than the explosion, however, Natalie could remember preparing herself for her own death the moment she saw him step through the billowing smoke. But luck, it seemed, had still been on her side, and her presence had gone unnoticed while he triumphantly slipped away into the night. She could still vividly recall the gratified spring in his step as he appeared like an ominous shadow, and vanished an instant later...she could see it as if it had just happened yesterday.

Pulling out the chair opposite his, she forced the horrifying image out of her mind and took a seat. It was a strange thing, to be so close to such a notorious criminal with only a small table standing between them. Even though he was securely wrapped in a straitjacket with no conceivable way of escape, she couldn't help but feel as if her safety was in jeopardy. She couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of dread that ran through her body.

He still didn't acknowledge her arrival as she peered across the table at his barely visible face. The room remained silent for what seemed like an eternity before she finally cleared her throat...

"I am Dr. Harrison," she began. "I have been appointed to take over your case. If you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll do my best to answer them."

He remained silent and unmoving _–_ his gaze intently fixated on the table in front of him.

"Anything at all..." she persisted, waiting for a response.

"You don't have a coat," he said at last.

Natalie couldn't help but quirk a puzzled brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know how you doctors love your white coats," he eventually repeated, lazily leaning back in his chair and looking up for the first time. Natalie knew that her fright must have shown the moment she laid eyes on his mutilated cheeks, but the reaction was beyond her control. "So, tell me, doctor...where's _your_ coat?"

Staring at his exposed scars up close and without the make_–_up that had once disguised them, if only to a certain extent, she couldn't contain a sympathetic wince. He had undoubtedly endured horrible pain when the lacerations were first inflicted. Even sociopaths felt pain, and the severity of the wounds meant that he must have suffered greatly. Such an extreme injury couldn't have been anything less than excruciating, but then again, he was the Joker...he could have just as easily relished the experience.

Clearing her throat a second time, Natalie managed to gather her bearings and compose herself. "I have read over your file quite extensively over the last few weeks. According to the GPD's findings, you have no name on record. Not to mention no prints, no DNA, and no dental records. Nothing but custom clothing and a total of seventeen knives found on your person _–_ including a retractable blade built into the toe of one of your boots. Shall I continue?"

A hint of amusement flickering in his eyes, the Joker merely shrugged nonchalantly as he slouched in his chair to get more comfortable.

"Very well," Natalie said after a slight hesitation. "You were found suspended by a cable 12 stories above the Prewitt building after a failed attempt to blow up two commuter ferries crossing the river. Lau's remains were found shortly thereafter. Autopsy indicated that cause of death was..."

The Joker smirked when she trailed off, leaning forward and slightly cocking his head to the side in feigned interest. "Cat got your tongue, doctor?"

"He was burned alive," she finished.

"Alive?" the Joker questioned, as if appalled by the news. "How terrible! What a world we live in..."

"Would you like to discuss it?"

Once again, he tilted his head to the side and studied her with a long, scrutinizing stare before replying:

"I hate ta break it to ya, doc, but I, uuh...I already got a shrink. He just seems to have, uuh..." he paused to clear his throat, "...gone missing."

"Dr. Waterson has resigned," Natalie explained.

"Resigned?" the Joker repeated. "Too much one_–_on_–_one therapy for the good doctor? And we were just getting to know each other."

Natalie intently studied her patient to gauge his reaction. "He didn't just resign from your case, he resigned from Arkham."

Peering at his new guest for a moment longer, the Joker eventually leaned back in his chair, rudely smacking his lips while he casually fidgeted in his straitjacket and readjusted himself.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"My name is Dr. Harrison," she answered.

"Aah, that must make you the quiet one," he retorted. "You're much too serious, Dr. Harrison. How about a joke to break the ice?"

"If you'd like," Natalie agreed. "Go ahead."

"No_–_no_–_no, not me...you," he replied, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his twisted lips. "Let's find out what you're made of, hmm?"

"I'm not here to play games."

"Don't be a spoiled sport, doc," he replied with a condescending smirk. "Tell you what...you tell me a joke, and I'll tell you something you wanna know. I mean, that is why you're here, isn't it? For information?"

Opening her mouth to protest, Natalie stopped herself and hesitated for a moment before reluctantly nodding her head in agreement. The Joker definitely did have a way of getting into a persons' psyche and toying with it, and she knew that it would be pointless to argue or deny him his childish games. He was beyond reason, she knew that much going in. If she just went with it and played along, then perhaps she could at least get some answers out of him. But how surreal it would be to exchange jokes with the Joker himself, she thought.

She had always been considered the more serious, brainiac of her family, not a comedian by any stretch of the word. She had, however, growing up around her older brother and several boy cousins, heard her fair share of jokes in her youth _–_ many of which had been so crude and filthy that she didn't think that, even now, she would be able to repeat them aloud without blushing.

Sitting with an expectant expression on his face, the Joker silently waited.

"All right, we can do it your way," she complied, folding her arms across her chest. "Knock, knock..."

"Ooh, going with the classics, are we? How bold," he replied, hunching forward in delighted anticipation. "Uuh...who's there?"

Natalie waited a few seconds before continuing. "Boo..."

"Why are you crying?" the Joker asked, delivering the punchline and prematurely ending the joke. Shaking his head in mock disappointment, he shot her a patronizing glance before looking away as if he found the stark, white walls of the cramped cell that they sat in to be of more interest than her. "Tisk_–_tisk, doctor...you're going to have to do better than that if you want your answers."

Surprising herself, Natalie suddenly found herself almost annoyed by the Joker's blatant act of superiority. Clenching her jaw, she glared at him for a brief time, contemplating which course of action to take next.

"Fine," she finally spoke up. "Would you like to hear another joke?"

The Joker merely narrowed his skeptical eyes, as if daring her to meet his challenge.

"I know you got it in ya!" he growled, slightly shuddering to show his enthusiasm and emphasize his words.

For a fleeting instant, Natalie debated if whether or not she had decided to do the right thing. In a way, she was only playing along with his demented games because he had already antagonized her to the point of exasperation _–_ not the best of reasons to engage a pyschotic madman.

"A man walks into a bar and orders two drinks. He continues to come in every night until the bartender gets a bit curious and asks him, _'Sir, why do you always ask for two drinks?'_ The man replies,_ 'I used to come here with my best friend, but now he's dead, so I drink the second beer on his behalf.'_ A few days later, the same man comes in and only orders one beer. Curious, the bartender asks him, _'Why only one beer now, Sir?' _The man replies,_ 'I've given up drinking...'_"

His expression unreadable, the Joker remained silent for a long, tense moment.

Natalie nearly jumped out of her seat when he suddenly and unexpectedly began to laugh, stooping over and gasping for breath as he bounced up and down in his chair like an excitable child. Tearing her gaze away from the startling sight, she glanced over her shoulder when she heard the guards supervising the session move forward behind her, and motioned for them to stay back. She had possibly made a breakthrough, and the last thing she wanted or needed was outside interference. Grudgingly, they obliged and once again stepped back to take their places beside the door.

His trio of visitors nervously watching on, the Joker refocused his attention on Natalie once his hysterical fit of laughter subsided. "Now, that's the spirit!"

"I'm glad you're pleased," Natalie replied. "So, are you ready to answer one of my questions now?"

"Let me have it, doc," the Joker said as he plopped back down in his chair.

"What's your name?"

"Is that really the best you can do?" he inquired. "Oh, what's in a name?!"

Natalie firmly pressed on. "That is my question."

"Don't you read the newspapers, doctor?" he taunted with a smug grin. "Or, uuh...maybe you just don't recognize me? After all, I didn't have time to put my face on this morning."

"Okay, I have another question for you," Natalie replied, realizing that she was not liable to receive a straight answer on the subject. Perhaps she had been hoping for too much to expect such a significant detail out of him so early on in the process. "Your trial will be underway soon, and Gotham's new D.A. is pushing very heavily for the death sentence. How do you feel about that?"

"See, death is, uuh...just another part of life," the Joker said, leaning over the surface of the table and impulsively wetting his lips. "And if I'm gonna go out, at least I'll go out with a smile on my face..."

"Do you not value your life at all?".

The Joker once again narrowed his eyes. "How old are you?"

"Excuse me?" Natalie asked, unable to hide the fact that she was clearly taken aback by the peculiar question.

"It's a simple question," he prodded. "Come on, what's the magic number? Twentyyy...six? Seven?"

Against her better judgment, Natalie answered truthfully:

"I'm 28 years old."

"Aah, young enough to still be beautiful, but old enough to know a thing or two about how the world really works," he said as he casually tilted forward in his chair. "See, I'm what you would call an enabler. You know, it wasn't my choice, it just sort of...happened. I see things differently _–_ for what they truly are. I'm just trying to get the word out. And you? You with all your, uuh...so_–_called 'wisdom'...you're the ones who labeled me the outcast, not me."

"How?" Natalie retorted, genuinely fascinated and eager to hear his logic. "Tell me, I want to know how you think others are to blame for your actions...how it's our fault, and not yours."

"Well, I'll tell you, but only if you'll listen. Really...listen," the Joker replied. He waited until Natalie nodded her head, confirming that she was paying close attention:

"It's all a matter of perception. How do you perceive this, you know...how do you see that? What does it mean? Why is it there? Most people, they just drift through life and do whatever they're told to do, go wherever they're told to go...because that's just what _civilized_ folk do. That's what they find acceptable in their little paradise. Just, uuh...fall in line and life will go on, just like that. But the second you turn around and walk the other way...well, then they want your blood, because that means life won't go on. At least, not the way they want it to."

"And you believe this justifies murder?" Natalie asked. "That it rationalizes everything you've done?"

"Call it, uuh...'freedom of expression'," the Joker retorted simply. "I'm just a visionary, nothing more. These people and their perfect world of fast food, fast cars...they don't see the big picture. Always following the pack, running with the herd. 'Cause if they don't, they know that's it. Look at you and your, uuh...wonderful profession you got here. Hmm? Keeping your schedule, working your 9_–_5. Scared that if you don't follow orders, if you make the tiniest little mistake, you just might go and upset the wrong person."

"You seem to know me very well for only having met me five minutes ago," Natalie responded.

"And why do you think that is, Miss Harrison?" he inquired as he quizzically raised his eyebrows. "It's because you're all part of the same flock, flying high in your flawless, unadulterated existence. See, that's what I've been trying to change...if I don't, who will?"

"So, you believe that you were actually helping the people of Gotham?"

"Oh, I'm not done yet," he corrected her, keenly gazing across the table. "The people of Gotham still have the wool pulled over their eyes. And, despite what _you_ might believe, this, uuh...padded prison of yours...it won't hold me forever."

Natalie intently studied the Joker. He radiated with an air of arrogance, as if he was in on some big secret that the rest of the world didn't yet know about. It was infuriating and unsettling all at the same time. Slouching back in his chair, he sat with a quiet self_–_assurance while she attempted to decipher his irrational motivation, his pretentious words, his eccentric mannerisms...but all she could perceive was his cool, impenetrable exterior. She hadn't honestly expected to crack his shell in one session, but she had remained optimistic. Now, observing him as he sat only a few feet away from her, she wondered if cracking it was even possible. She wondered if he had already been too far gone, lost in his own delusional fantasies, for too lengthy a time to return...to regain his sanity, if ever he had possessed any degree of sanity to begin with, and someday rejoin society. But one thing she was sure of: he was certainly in no condition to do so at the present time. It was feasible that he could benefit from therapy and the proper medication, but he first had to accept that he needed help.

"Well, I think we have discussed enough for one day," Natalie finally declared as she rose from her seat. "We will pick up where we left off tomorrow afternoon."

"Done so soon, doctor?" the Joker gibed. "Places to go, people to see?"

"We'll resume our session tomorrow," Natalie repeated.

Without another word, she started for the door while the guards standing in wait held it open and stepped aside. As she made her way back out into the corridor, she could hear a low, cavalier voice singing inside the room just behind her:

"Something in the way she moves..."

* * *


	5. Chapter 3

_**Laurenmlbc**_ _–_ _Hey, thanks! I'm glad to hear you think I'm pulling the Joker off okay. He's by far the hardest character I've ever tried to write, and I'm doing what I can to do him justice._

_**yayme2012 **__–_ _I appreciate your review. I'm doing my best to stay consistent with the Dark Knight's Joker, and it's nice to hear that my OC is interesting and not just boring._

_**dsfjr1190 **__–_ _Thanks, I hope you enjoy the rest..._

_**Note: **__This chapter gets somewhat dark (nothing graphic), so be warned if you have a problem with angst. Really, it's not so bad, but I thought it was worth mentioning..._

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_Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, etc._

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**C H a P T e R ****3**

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It had been a long night. Guzzling down the lukewarm cappuccino that she had picked up at a nearby coffee shop earlier in the morning, Natalie hastily strode toward the main entrance to Arkham Asylum. After an interminable night of restlessly tossing and turning in bed, she had finally managed to drift off and get a few hours of sleep before she had to wake up the next day and prepare for work. Having slept for a little under three and a half hours, she figured that her only chance of surviving the afternoon and staying afloat would be to consume vast quantities of caffeine. She had always been a bit of an insomniac, her mind never fully able to shut down even when her body so desperately needed to rest, but she could not recall a time in her life when it had been so frustratingly obstinate. Replaying her first, nerve_–_racking encounter with her new patient over and over in her head like a continuous reel of film, she had sat awake for hours on end, unable to find an effective distraction to tear her thoughts away.

The Joker.

Their initial meeting had been strange _–_ he had not been quite what she had expected. He was clearly mad, she could not deny that, but he had also been highly intelligent. She had assumed that he would be abrasive and display a certain level of violent tendencies, but he had actually refrained from showing any kind of aggressive behavior during their prior session. How he would have behaved had he not been restrained by a straitjacket, she could only guess. He had also been articulate, albeit extremely misguided in his views and beliefs. His deranged mentality had sadly led him astray, driving him to the point of insanity. He was an enigma of sorts, but one that she planned to unravel and solve, no matter how long it might take. She had been selected for his case because she was one of the best qualified analysts in her field, and she did not mean to disappoint her employers...or herself.

Pausing outside the asylum doors, Natalie turned when a familiar voice suddenly called out to her:

"Miss Harrison?"

"Gordon?" she asked aloud, more to herself than to the man approaching her. She returned the gesture when he greeted her with a polite smile. "_Commissioner _Gordon, I should say. I don't believe I've had the chance to formally congratulate you on your promotion..."

"Oh, no need to bother," the kindly Commissioner replied. "Trust me, I've heard enough 'congratulations' and 'well done's to last a lifetime. I was just wondering if I might trouble you for a moment of your time?"

"Of course," Natalie said. "I would ask what this is concerning, but I think I already have a pretty good idea."

Gordon frowned. "Yes, I suppose you would."

"However, I'd rather not discuss it out here," she stated as she motioned toward the doors. "Would you care to join me in my office?"

Together, Natalie and Commissioner Gordon made their way through the winding halls of Arkham, exchanging pleasantries and idle chatter while they walked. Once they reached her office, they stepped inside and securely closed the door behind them. Natalie couldn't help but smirk when she turned to her visitor and noticed him curiously glancing around at the numerous unpacked boxes and loose papers strewn about the floor.

"It's, uum...it's a lovely office," he commented.

"I haven't really had time to decorate yet," she remarked, her smirk growing even wider when he awkwardly nodded his understanding. Her amusement faded an instant later. "So, I gather you are here to talk about the Joker?"

"Yes, unfortunately, I am," Gordon replied. "He's safely locked away, I should hope..."

"He is," Natalie confirmed. "And as you know, this place is built like a fortress. He won't be getting out anytime soon."

"Actually, he will," Gordon retorted, eliciting a puzzled look from the young doctor. "The Joker's trial will be underway in two weeks' time. We're concerned that there may be an attack on his convoy during transport."

"An attack?" Natalie questioned. "By who?"

"The Joker's made a lot of criminals rich, but not all of his lackeys were in it for the money," he explained. "Most of them are just as crazy as he is." He thoughtfully paused before continuing, "Well, maybe not _just_ as crazy, but close enough. Furthermore, they're devoted."

"And you're really afraid they'll attempt to free him?"

"Judging by what he has convinced them to do in the past, it's very probable," Gordon said with a weary sigh. "We've already picked up a group of conspirators plotting to bomb a building downtown. We can't be sure if they were really the Joker's men or copycat's, but they were all wearing rubber clown masks when we found them. They said it was their way of sending a message to the people of Gotham."

Natalie arched an inquisitive brow. "What message?"

"They were protesting the Joker's imprisonment," he answered. "The message was: _Release him, or the city will burn_."

"Was this an isolated incident?" Natalie asked, pensively stroking her chin.

"So far," Gordon replied. "But chances are his real followers are still out there. And somehow I get the feeling that if we did release him, Gotham would only burn faster."

* * *

Once again, Natalie took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders before entering the room; and once again, two armed guards accompanied her. Fortunately, she now had the advantage of experience on her side. During their first session she had been completely in the dark, with no clue of what to expect beyond what she had read in his extensive file. Now, however, she had a general idea of what precisely she was waltzing into. He had been genuinely indifferent when she had brought up the subject of death, and the most vocal when he had been allowed to go off on his anarchic rant. Having mulled over several different possible ploys and strategies during her sleepless night, she had eventually come up with a tactic that had a slim chance of succeeding, though it was exceedingly risky with a deceptive mind like the Joker's...but she had to try. She could only pray that her new gambit would pay off in the end.

Dr. Waterson had mentioned in his records a number of times that he had made the most progress when he had unintentionally allowed his own anger to surface. The Joker, it seemed, had on rare occasion opened up, even if only slightly, and become more receptive during these particular exchanges. Considering this, it had occurred to Natalie that he could perchance be more likely to engage her if she presented herself in a more argumentative way, as opposed to deliberately acting impassive as she had done before. The scenario could unfold and play out to her advantage, or it could lead her nowhere fast. Either way, she couldn't see how she could possibly do any worse than she already had during their last visit.

Her patient welcomed her with an unsettling smile while the guards positioned themselves on either side of the door behind her. Lounging in his chair, he crudely smacked his lips as she tentatively took a seat across the table from him.

"Just couldn't stay away, could you?" he spoke up.

"If I stayed away I wouldn't be doing my job very well," she sharply retorted, suddenly conveying an obvious air of hostility.

"The doctor is in!" he exclaimed in delight. "Feeling feisty today, are we, Miss Harrison? Hmm?"

"We're not here to talk about me, we're here to talk about you," she snapped back, glaring across the table and earning an amused grin from her patient. "And it's Dr. Harrison, not Miss."

Natalie intently studied his frightening, scarred visage for a long moment before proceeding:

"You wasted my time yesterday," she finally continued. "Today I would like some answers. Do you feel like answering a few questions for me, or should I just leave and come back a little later when you're feeling more forthcoming?"

The Joker, in turn, studied Natalie for a moment himself before flashing a wide, gratified smile. "Aah, a woman after my own heart...how about that can_–_do attitude!"

"I'll take that as a yes," she replied, clasping her hands and resting them on the surface of the table in front of her. "Where would you like to begin? With those scars, perhaps? How did you get them?"

Tilting his head to the side, he merely narrowed his eyes and feigned indecision as he made a show of debating over whether or not he would oblige and answer the query. Natalie remained silent and patiently awaited his response.

"How do you think I got them, doctor?" he asked at last.

"I don't know, you tell me," she retorted. "Did you do it to yourself?"

"Now, why on earth would I do a thing like that?"

"Some people prefer to inflict pain and bodily harm on themselves," Natalie replied.

"What, are you crazy?! No_–_no_–_no, you got it all wrong, doc...I love me," the Joker whimpered, his expression a mixture of mockery and childlike innocence. Then, readjusting himself in his straitjacket, he abruptly cleared his throat. "So, listen...you want the truth?" Casually leaning forward in his chair, he impulsively wet his lips before delving into his explanation:

"I was a depressed kid growing up, and my father...he tried everything. He tried giving me the pills, but they didn't work. He tried the therapists, but they didn't work. He'd almost given up when one night he got this brilliant idea that it might cheer me up if I could wake up in the morning and see my reflection smiling back at me. You know, in the mirror? See, he, uuh...he was trying to help brighten my day. So, with this trusty old knife he always used to carry around, he went at it. And you know what? It worked...now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling."

Horrified by the story, Natalie faltered for an instant before quickly composing herself and resuming a neutral demeanor. She inwardly cringed when she realized that the Joker had caught a glimpse of her momentary lapse, a faint glimmer of satisfaction twinkling in his eyes.

"Is that the truth?" she asked, silently rebuking herself for the foolish blunder. "There have been various accounts reported in which you have related similar stories, though they always differ in one way or another. Given the history of these inconsistencies, how am I to believe you're not lying to me now?"

Curious, the Joker cocked his head to the side. "Whad'da ya say we lighten the mood with another joke?"

"There won't be any jokes today," Natalie retorted. "I'm here to help you, not for your enjoyment."

"This doesn't work unless you make nice, doc," he persisted as he flopped back in his chair. "I bet you know some one_–_liners that could really make a man blush. We're, uuh...not so innocent as we look, are we?"

"Tell me about the rest of your family," Natalie said, doing her best to ignore his incessant goading. "What about your mother, or siblings?"

"Well, let's see here..." the Joker began, nonchalantly clearing his throat, "What can I say about the dear old family? Mother baked cookies and read me bedtime stories, and father...father dressed up like Santa on Christmas."

"If you're not going to take this seriously _–_ "

"What's wrong, doc...not what you wanted to hear?" he brusquely interrupted. "See, you shrinks are all the same. You want the tragic, abusive childhood, and your pathetic sob stories. You know, so you can find your _deeper_ meanings. You don't wanna hear that I was tucked in safe and sound every night, 'cause that wouldn't fit your pattern. That wouldn't fit your, uuh...delicate little mold."

Furrowing a brow, Natalie contemplated before responding:

"Let's try a different approach. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking about right this minute," she suggested. Visibly intrigued by the proposition, the Joker rudely smacked his lips and scooted forward in his chair, eager to hear her out. "Describe to me what's running through your mind at this exact moment."

"Well, let's see here..." he trailed off, shifting his focus to the ceiling as he pondered to himself. "I'm thinking about...my nose."

Sighing in exasperation, Natalie reluctantly took the bait. "Your nose? Would you care to elaborate?"

"See, this fashion statement of theirs..." he said as he indicated his straitjacket with a curt nod, "...it may be the new style, but, uuh...it does make it hard to scratch your nose."

"I'll make a deal with you," she firmly shot back. "If you give me one honest answer as a gesture of good faith, I'll see what I can do about removing the jacket."

Natalie glanced over her shoulder when one of the guards behind her cleared his throat disapprovingly. Brushing off the interruption without so much as a word, she directed her attention back to her patient and expectantly peered across the table at him. With a gleeful grin plastered on his face, he lazily slouched in his chair and wrinkled his nose, as if attempting to ward off a bothersome itch.

"Pulling strings and bargaining with patients, Dr. Harrison? Not very professional, is it? Cutting a deal must qualify as a breach of ethics..."

"Would you like to sit here and discuss my moral code, or would you rather have your hands back? Which will it be?" she asked, not the least bit surprised by the ensuing silence. "I'll start with a simple question, and we can take it from there. Why do you wear the face paint? Is it your way of distancing yourself from others, or is it merely to hide the scars?"

"Hide?!" the Joker suddenly exclaimed, throwing his head back in a wild fit of laughter. Gasping for breath, he continued to cackle as his gaze returned to the young doctor. "I'm the only one acting like myself! No, the rest of you...you're the ones hiding. Cowering behind your expensive banquets and fancy cocktail parties, too afraid to show the world who you really are. All because you're worried you might lose your precious Garden of Eden. Now, you take a guy like me...I allow the world to appreciate me for what I truly am. I'm not afraid to step out of the shadows and shine!"

"Then why wear it?"

"That's some very flattering make_–_up you have on there," he cheekily replied. "You ladies like to think it improves your looks, hmm? Maybe the two of us should be sharing a room, doc. I know I wouldn't mind the company."

"Fair enough," Natalie said with a frown. "We can move on to another topic if you'd like. Tell me, how old were you the first time you took a life?"

"How old...how old..." the Joker absent_–_mindedly repeated, quietly humming to himself while he considered his response. "Aah, I remember! It was, uuh...12 minutes."

Natalie's frown deepened. "What does that mean?"

"See, my mother...the night I showed up she left the hospital in a body bag. Medical complications and all that," he clarified, almost pleased with himself. The casual tone in his voice nearly sent a chill running down Natalie's spine. "Poor thing, died before she got the chance to see her own newborn son open his eyes. Her time was up, but as for me...I was just getting the ball rolling."

"I thought you said your mother read you bedtime stories," Natalie sharply retorted as she fought to drive the disturbing tale from her mind.

"Did I say that? How strange..."

Her shoulders slumping in resignation, Natalie took one last look at her patient before grudgingly rising from her seat. Her new tactic had not paid off. It had only provided her with more lackluster results, though she preferred to view the failure as a lesson, if nothing else. The Joker had proved impervious to her futile efforts...she had been unable to stir a reaction, even after having done everything short of screaming across the table at him. She had played the role of the antagonist, but to no effect. In spite of this, a relationship had definitely been established, however turbulent the bridge may have been. Regrettably, between the two of them, he had plainly established himself as the superior. She knew that her method would have to be altered drastically before she could sit back down with him for their next session.

"Oh, doctor, aren't you forgetting something?" the Joker called out as she made her way toward the door to depart. "Weren't you even going to say goodbye?"

Pausing in the threshold while her armed escorts held the door open for her to exit, she briefly glanced over her shoulder before continuing on her way.

"I'll see if I can't do something about that itch..."

* * *


	6. Chapter 4

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**_Laurenmlbc_** – _Thanks again for the reviews, they always help. Also, sorry for the delay, but I've had a lot going on lately. Hope you won't hold it against me... Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, etc._

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**C H a P T e R 4**

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The Pennyworth's had served the Wayne family for generations. Following a lengthy stint in the Special Air Service, Alfred himself had put down roots in Gotham City as Thomas and Martha Wayne's butler. Tragically, their life had been cut short before their only sons' very eyes by a lone thief some time ago; after having attended the local opera. Years had come and gone, and Bruce had grown into a strong and knowledgeable young man, but Alfred knew that he still carried with him a great sense of guilt and sadness over his parents' murder. He realized, unfortunately, that the sorrow he felt was his burden, and his alone. Alfred grieved for them, of course, but not in the same way. Bruce still blamed himself for their death to this very day, and there was nothing the elderly butler could do to ease his suffering. And now, all this time later, he was once again blaming himself...or, more than Bruce Wayne, he blamed Batman. Not for the savage killing of his mother and father, but for the death of Rachel Dawes. His dearest childhood friend and love of his life, she had been kidnapped and maliciously murdered by _him_.

She had been on the verge of a new career and a promising future, but it had been stolen away from her in the blink of an eye. Like Bruce, he had known Rachel since she had only been knee–high, and her passing saddened him to no end. But unlike Bruce, he knew that her untimely death was not his fault...it was the Joker's doing. He understood that Batman had finally brought about the change that Gotham so desperately needed – even if Batman himself couldn't see it. He had made a difference. Alfred wanted nothing more than to convince him of this very fact, but he knew that in this instance it was entirely out of his hands. Rachel's death had hit him too hard. Consumed by grief and despair, he had come to doubt his purpose in life.

Alfred had grown so accustomed to looking after the boy while raising him during his adolescence, that it deeply pained him to feel so utterly helpless now that he had evolved into the broken young man sitting before him. Of course, he could never let his true feelings show, or speak of his own hardships. It was his duty to remain steadfast and do everything in his power to help the tortured hero push through his trials and tribulations. He provided the solid foundation that the man behind the mask could not do without.

Carrying a tray of food in hand, Alfred cleared his throat to make himself known as he approached the plush chair resting in the center of Bruce Wayne's extravagant penthouse. Hiding behind the image of Gotham's wealthiest playboy, the reluctant millionaire had always been obligated to spend a certain amount of time within the walls of Wayne Enterprises, but following the destruction of Wayne Manor it had become his main place of residence. Much to Alfred's dismay, he had been spending even more time alone and isolated in the spacious apartment since Rachel's passing...

"Feeling like lunch today?"

"Hmm?" Bruce murmured as he glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, Alfred...no thanks, I'm not hungry."

"Well, why don't you give it a taste anyway," Alfred insisted, holding the tray out to him. "My own special recipe, of course."

Sighing in submission, Bruce accepted the freshly prepared meal and nodded his appreciation. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," Alfred replied. Glancing over at the news broadcast running on the television in front of the chair, he quirked a brow. "Catching up on current events, are we, Master Wayne?"

"Have you been watching?" Bruce asked, immediately forgetting the tray of food in his lap. "They set a date."

"I gather you are referring to the trial," Alfred deduced with a frown.

"Next week," was Bruce's blunt response. "Gordon's worried that some of his thugs might try to spring him on their way to the courthouse."

His frown deepening, Alfred returned his attention to the TV screen. "I would image he'll be kept under heavy lock and key, sir. Nobody in their right mind wants that madman back on the loose."

"It's over thirteen blocks from Arkham to the courthouse, Alfred," Bruce countered. "A lot can happen in the time it takes to cover that distance. If they break him out – "

"Let me stop you there, sir," Alfred interjected, picking up the remote control sitting beside the lavish chair and shutting the television off. "You have already done your service to the people of Gotham. It is because of you that he's no longer out there, roaming the streets with his gang and taking innocent lives on a whim. Sometimes it's best to simply take a step back and trust in others to do their part."

"I can't afford to take any chances," Bruce wearily retorted. "None of us can..."

"If you continue to burn the candle at both ends, Master Wayne," Alfred replied as he remained firm and resolute, "you will not be much good to anyone."

Setting the tray of food aside, Bruce rose from his chair and turned to his kindly butler with a reassuring smirk. "You don't have to worry about me, Alfred...I promise I'll take a vacation just as soon as the trial's over. But for now, I need to go track down Lucius."

"Of course you do, sir," Alfred replied. "What will it be this time? A jetpack to scour the skies of Gotham, perhaps?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea," Bruce said with a grin. "Maybe I'll run that by him."

Shaking his head in resignation, Alfred watched Gotham City's most prosperous businessman depart before glancing down and retrieving his untouched lunch.

* * *

She had been at it for hours on end. Sipping at a freshly brewed mug of coffee and intently studying the security monitor in front of her, Natalie Harrison wearily rubbed her aching head. She had been observing her patient for half of the day without respite, but had still failed to make any progress. The afternoon had been rather uneventful and slow going. For hours upon hours, he had done nothing other than wander about his cramped holding cell – carefully examining its bare, white walls as if a gallery of fine art had been put up on display for his own personal entertainment.

Doing her best to stifle a yawn, Natalie blew on her steaming beverage before taking another sip. So engrossed by the video on the monitor, she was caught off guard and abruptly turned with a start when she heard the door to the surveillance room creak open behind her. She smiled in embarrassment when Dr. Lambert entered. If he had detected the startled look on her face, he didn't show it.

"Good evening, Dr. Harrison," he said as he joined her.

"Evening?" she repeated, glancing down at her wrist and realizing for the first time that there were no clocks to be found in the room, and she had apparently forgotten her watch while preparing for work earlier in the morning. "I haven't been keeping track of the time. How late is it?"

"Just after six o'clock," Dr. Lambert answered. "You've been in here for nearly eight hours. It's a wonder you can still see straight enough to concentrate on the screen."

"I never expected this assignment to be easy," she wryly remarked.

"Regretting your decision to take on the task?" Dr. Lambert asked with a raised brow. "You may be the most qualified behavioral analyst in the field, but you are still very young. Perhaps too much weight has been placed on your shoulders, too soon..."

"No, it's not that," Natalie hastily retorted. "It's _him_. I've dealt with my fair share of troubled, delusional patients in the past, but he's not the same...he's different."

Dr. Lambert's curiosity grew. "How so?"

"He's unwavering in his opinions and views on the world," she elaborated. "Many patients express similar personality traits, but sometimes when you speak with him he seems almost...sane. As crazy as it sounds, there's no denying that he is extremely intellectual. The problem is, he clearly acts on raw animal impulse, and not on a system of logic or reason."

"Perhaps with the proper medication – "

"I'm not so sure medicating him would be the wisest course to follow," Natalie interrupted, thoughtfully stroking her chin. "I've considered it myself, but I think that if the root of the problem isn't addressed, no amount of medication will do him any good. My initial evaluation leads me to believe that prescribing drugs will only stave off his condition temporarily. We need to find the source, not just treat the symptoms and hope for the best. A regression would prove disastrous in this case, as you can imagine."

"The decision is ultimately in your hands, of course," Dr. Lambert replied with a frown. "However, there is another matter that has come to my attention regarding your...request."

Natalie slightly grimaced, as she already knew exactly what the older doctor was referring to. She had expected some level of resistance from her superiors, and it seemed that the time had come.

"Do you really think it prudent to remove this particular patients' straitjacket?" he continued without hesitation. "You are fully aware that there are far more dangerous aspects to him than just his mind..."

"I am merely establishing a basis to gain his trust," Natalie argued in turn, refusing to falter or concede under her supervisors' grim stare. "Which I will obviously need if I am to ever make any headway during our sessions. If I am unable to build some kind of a rapport, he will never confide in me and this will all have been for nothing. I was sent here to perform a job, Dr. Lambert, and I plan to do just that."

Noticing that Dr. Lambert's hardened expression was beginning to soften, Natalie firmly pressed on:

"Without making a connection, no matter how long I continue to see him, it will be impossible to pinpoint his illness and determine what therapy he should undergo in order to achieve the best results. I am sure you understand the importance of the doctor–patient relationship, sir. I ask only that you don't tie my hands, and allow me to do as I was instructed. That is why I was hired for the position, is it not?"

A long moment of silence ensued while Dr. Lambert lost himself deep in thought – earnestly deliberating and contemplating what to say next.

"Let me first say that your approach is very unorthodox, Dr. Harrison," he declared at last. Then, to Natalie's surprise, he offered her a warm, sympathetic smile. "Keeping that in mind, I was met with similar accusations once or twice in the days of my youth. I will sign off on your request, and grant you full responsibility over your patient. In doing so, you will be permitted to practice in a way that you deem suitable, and continue treatment in whatever manner you see fit. But just for the record, I strongly disagree with this new method of yours."

"That's all I could ask for," Natalie replied with a relieved smile. "Thank you, sir."

Somewhere between a frown and a grin, Dr. Lambert turned to leave until he heard Natalie mumble to herself just behind him:

"What is he..."

Glancing back, he realized that the younger doctor had returned her attention to the security monitor once again. He curiously moved back to her side and peered over her shoulder to get a better look at the image as she, too, intently studied it.

"How well did you say your camera systems are hidden?" she inquired.

"The cameras themselves are no larger than the tip of a needle," Dr. Lambert answered, leaning in closer to examine the screen. "Many of our patients are paranoid enough without the knowledge that they are under constant surveillance."

"But it looks like...can he see us?" Natalie stammered, inwardly scolding herself for the rash slip of her tongue. "See it, I mean. The camera..."

"Impossible. It is merely coincidence, I can assure you," he replied. "Our devices are state of the art, and well concealed. They aren't visible to the naked eye from such a distance."

Natalie felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine as she examined the scarred visage and set of penetrating eyes that seemed to stare right through the camera lens, and straight into her soul. The Joker, his face unpainted and fixated on what appeared to be the very camera that was watching over him, stood motionless while his captivated gaze bore into her – chilling her to the bones. Somehow the sight was even more disturbing than when she had actually sat just a few feet away from him.

She fought the urge to look away until it grew unbearable, and she finally relented. He, however, remained where he was without averting his scrutinizing stare. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn that when she turned back to the monitor, a faint smirk of satisfaction had crept onto his lips...

* * *


End file.
